Where the Scrubbing Never Stops

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It was the mah-jongg, Ann Kong believes, that finally put her over the edge. Living just a few blocks from Amoy Gardens, she was already nervous about SARS. But the reality didn't hit her until she arrived at her brother's home for the family's weekly mah-jongg game. Everyone had to wear slippers, and there was a designated "shoe area" to prevent footwear from contaminating the flat. The usually raucous pregame lunch was silent—the 10-person group had agreed not to talk to avoid spitting on one another and the food. Kong's brother wiped the mah-jongg tiles with rubbing alcohol to disinfect them—three times. "We played mah-jongg with everyone in masks and gloves," she says. Kong hasn't gone back since; she prefers not to go out at all.

Hong Kong bills itself as the City of Life, but since the SARS outbreak began, this has become the City of Disinfectant Bleach and Water Used in a 1:99 Ratio. Intensive-care units are busier than most restaurants and hotels, prompting those two sectors to lay off or order mandatory unpaid leave for 60,000 employees. An economics professor believes unemployment in the city could reach an astounding 10%. Analysts have been rejiggering their spreadsheets to input SARS and output diminished GDP growth figures. Standard Chartered Bank cut its GDP growth forecast for Hong Kong from 3.5% to 0.5%.

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Most trying for local residents, however, has been the quotidian impact of living in a hot zone. Handshakes are out, obsessive-compulsive cleaning is in, and beauty is now measured solely by the eyes, for those are the only facial features visible above surgical masks. (Oh, and the ears, if that's your fetish.) Usually packed hangouts—bars, clubs, karaoke parlors and restaurants—are no-go zones, while each day brings news of more concert cancellations. And it's an equal-opportunity bummer: the Rolling Stones, Santana and DJ Shadow have all said no. Even Mong Kok's celebrated prostitutes are losing customers. Hong Kong's new leisure activity? Breathlessly anticipating the Health Department's early-evening release of the number of new SARS cases that day. If the tally is more than yesterday's, we shudder. One fewer and we hope the worst is past.

Yet new SARS cases continue to mount in the territory, hitting 1,358 by the end of the week, and younger and healthier people are beginning to succumb. The government has revealed the locations of buildings where SARS victims live, confirming that the disease is right next door—or at least up the street. "More people are dying and they are dying younger, and the number of new cases isn't going down," says housewife Pauline Yeung. "I'm so scared."

One upside to SARS in the SAR: the city is cleaning itself up. Instead of asking everyone with possible SARS symptoms to self-quarantine, as did Canada's Ontario province, the government has instead decided to focus on promoting public hygiene. In this, at least, Hong Kong's beleaguered leaders have succeeded. Public spitting has reduced, malls smell like hospitals and Hong Kongers carry alcohol swabs like spare change. "My hands are peeling from washing them so much," says Dr. Tam Lai-shan, who treats SARS patients at the Prince of Wales Hospital. Kong keeps a bucket of the Health Department-advocated 1:99 bleach-and-water solution handy. Before heading indoors, she wipes down her shoes, clothes and bags. Then she showers, washes her hair and changes clothes. "If I go out three times a day, I have to do this three times a day," she says.

But obsessive swabbing won't help if your flat is a viral highway. The government announced Thursday that the Amoy Gardens outbreak, which infected 321 residents, was due in part to a faulty plumbing system. Virus-infected sewage droplets were sucked up through dry U-pipes that lead to residents' bathrooms, contaminating their apartments. The lesson? Always make sure your U-pipes are filled with water—and pour some of that bleach solution in there for good measure.

It's enough to make you want to flee the city—and you still can, provided you pass the airport's new mandatory health checks and you're not booked on the nearly one-third of flights to or from Hong Kong that have been canceled. But take heart, Hong Kongers, you have the steely will to persevere in a city the World Health Organization (WHO) has deemed unsafe for nonessential visits. Even the Stones, grizzled human petri dishes that they are, were frightened away by the very environment you call home. At the moment, despite the Health Department's explanation of the Amoy Gardens outbreak, the WHO shows no signs of lifting its travel advisory. But even as we mope along with our swabs and bleach solutions and top-off our U-pipes, a flicker of hope appears in the daily infection numbers we regard like a cabalistic talisman. Last Friday marked the first time Hong Kong registered more SARS discharges than new patients since the outbreak began. Schools are reopening in stages. Hong Kongers are adjusting to life with SARS, whatever the eventual scars might be.